


Claustrophobia

by BakerBitches



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, First Time, Hand Jobs, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerBitches/pseuds/BakerBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock find themselves locked in a closet, and it raises some questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claustrophobia

He didn’t particularly want to admit it, but John rather liked being crushed against his flatmate in the space the small cupboard provided. It was thrilling and new, though not exactly foreign; Sherlock was always pushing personal space with John as if he had no idea what the term meant. The constant small acts of contact grounded John from time to time, and he thoroughly enjoyed the connection with the detective. With that in mind, though, he never would have thought in his lifetime that he’d be so very close to Sherlock Holmes.

 

“Sherlock, are you sure that this is the best hiding place?” John inquired for the fourth time since being shoved into the tiny area, taking pleasure in the fact that he could feel every breath they held.

 

“John, I’m going to have to ask you to, in fact, shut up,” Sherlock said in such a low decibel John swore he felt the vibrations reverberate through his body.

 

He desperately wanted to wish that the man pushed against him had the same arousal he felt from being in such a close proximity, but John refused to let himself think like that. It would have been brilliant, though; John couldn’t deny it. “Sherlock, is that a gun in your pocket?” John jested, trying to bat away the personal embarrassment he possessed. Sherlock chuckled in response, sending small jolts of movement between the two. Their bodies were pressed together, front to front, which also inevitably meant groin to groin. John was using every muscle not to move, but he trembled in doing so. He could feel and hear Sherlock’s breath slow and steady, a hauntingly seductive rhythm.

 

Sherlock did not need to be a detective to understand that the growing bulge in John’s trousers was not an iPhone. When they were this close and pressed together, it could really only mean one thing.

 

“John,” Sherlock paused and stiffened, feeling slightly flattered yet also uncertain of the grounds the two were on. “John,” he asked quietly, “are you... aroused?” A hint of a sly smile grew in his voice.

 

John scoffed, and then pursed his lips. In the dim light, Sherlock couldn’t see his expression.

 

“No, of course not, Sherlock. Don’t be ridiculous.” John exhaled, willing his erection to go away.

 

“John, I am not exactly the virgin everyone has you to believe,” Sherlock coughed back, “I know what an erection is, and I am certain that that is what I am feeling on my thigh.” Silence filled the two men’s ears and John pressed his back against the wall of the closet to remove some of the pressure that he was pressing into Sherlock’s front.

 

“I-” John began, but quickly silenced himself when Sherlock raised his hand to the doctor’s mouth and shushed him. Footsteps could be heard outside of the closet, running through the corridor.

 

Sherlock felt the heavy breath that John pushed into his palm. The detective knew that it was probably the close proximity, the feeling of another human body against his, that was getting a response out of John, and not from he himself.

 

“Sherlock-” he started (again), but was interrupted (again) by someone ripping open the door. John stared at the guard they were avoiding the entire evening with an open mouth, his brain formulating any excuse that would not end with them being dragged from the building by Lestrade. However, John didn’t get very far before Sherlock began kissing him viciously and with purpose. John was startled into stillness and looked at the equally surprised guard out of the corner of his eye. The sensations of Sherlock’s lips sliding with his own took over, and John immediately kissed back, pulling at fistfulls of curls. The arousal he felt was amplified when Sherlock let out an aggressive, low growl, pushing his hips against John’s abdomen. It sent jolts through his body, and John went into a sensory overload. A small bit of tongue darted out and the other man opened his mouth automatically and in complete rhythm. John sucked a breath in through his nose quickly when he found his entire bottom lip devoured by Sherlock’s teeth. A pair of hands crept into John’s waistband; it compelled him to hook one of his legs up and around Sherlock’s waist. He wanted friction, and it was aggravating that he couldn’t find it with his jeans in the way, though it seemed that the detective wanted it as well, as he was pushing forward onto John. He thanked anybody who was listening for the impressively tiny closet, because if there actually was room, he would have been banged against the wall with unimaginable force. After a moment of frantic searching, Sherlock settled one hand on the wall next to John’s head and the other gripped the thigh that was around his middle. In the short amount of time, matters had progressed quite rapidly.

 

The guard cleared his throat awkwardly, his bearded adam’s apple bobbing slightly. The two kept at their game. “When I come around again in five minutes, you two had better be gone.” and he shut the door hastily, practically jogging down the hallway.

 

John reluctantly let his head fall back onto the wall and detangled from Sherlock, allowing it to selfishly collect all his weight from him so that he could (maybe) regain his composure. The echoing of the slammed door in front of them temporarily left a deafening ring in his pounding ears, but that didn't stop him from feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment and, more importantly, confusion. But not ordinary confusion, no, of course not.

 

Sexual confusion. And they both felt it.

 

He could feel his heart try to leak away from the cage of his chest, throbbing, crying out and protesting against it. His eyes wandered around, staring at the dark nothingness surrounding them, doing anything to avoid the larger man’s gaze. But, of course, no matter how fast they reacted, they couldn't avoid the flash of teeth from the detective looming over him. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't resist but shiver with captured pleasure under him.

 

It took the doctor a good minute to realize that he was hyperventilating, so much that his chest was scraping against Sherlock’s, and he began to fall lightheaded. It didn't help him that he could feel the piercing cold stare of the detective looming over him, his hot breath crawling down his neck and chest, causing him to surge forward. John reveled momentarily in letting his growing erection to press up against Sherlock’s thigh before he quickly held himself against the wall once more. His sweaty palms were clawing at the wall, running over the peeling wallpaper with his fingers.

 

“I...I need air...” He stammered, not being able to stop his chest from going as fast as it pleased, hoping, praying, that it would fool the detective.

 

He began clumsily shifting towards the door, his hands fumbling and scraping for the handle in his desperate need to escape. His fingers traced over it, before closing around the curve quickly. He calmed his eyes now, doing anything to keep himself in an unruffled appearance, but shaking with enough panic to tip off Sherlock. Inside, John knew that no one, not even him, could fool the world’s greatest detective.

 

As John began to turn the handle (an exhale of relief leaving his body) he couldn't help but feel some regret. Maybe it was time for him to admit his true feelings to the detective and to himself, the feeling being deep-seated lust. As soon as the knob clicked, the hand controlling it was pulled back, shutting the door with such force it caused the smaller man to yelp in surprise. A hard swallow came from him as he felt a heavy weight fall onto his hand, dragging it away from the handle, away from freedom.

 

John’s eyes locked onto Sherlock's, ignoring the sensation coming from his knuckles. The two men stood in silence for a couple of seconds, which happened to control John and caused his heart to run mad inside his head. His chest puffed up as he inhaled deeply at the sight of Sherlock's mouth parting, the excitement of what he was about to say clouding his mind and actions. He no longer cared about his pulsing erection, only about what Sherlock had to say.

 

Sherlock, of course, knew he was torturing his poor John. He leaned over the smaller man and growled out one word.

 

“Stay.”

 

It was not a question nor a suggestion. No. It was a command, one he knew that John was inclined to obey. John flinched under him as a breath crawled down his shirt, paralyzing him as if it were venom in his blood. John avoided eye contact and tugged away from Sherlock’s ice cold hand, which had latched itself around his. Sherlock grinned as he felt the doctor grow more uncomfortable when he placed his other arm around him, caging him in, leaving no way out.

 

John swallowed. “What for?” His breath was still incredibly ragged. Sherlock pushed into him harder, making it increasingly more difficult to control his already-disobedient body.

 

“Because,” Sherlock murmured into his ear, still feeling the rush of his spontaneous act that was meant to keep the guard at bay. He mentally shook himself and banished any dirty thoughts he wished to pursue. “We still have to retrieve the stick.” He stopped for a moment, realizing his accidental innuendo. “The, erm. USB stick.” He heightened his ears and waited for absolute silence in the hallway before turning his palm on the knob. John’s hand was still under his, fastened with his weight. John knew that he could shove him off with little to no struggle, but decided against it.

 

Sherlock rushed out of the closet. He felt oddly self conscious about himself, a foreign feeling. John pattered behind him, trying to keep up with the amazingly long legs that were leading him around the building and to the office that held what they came for in the first place. He was walking faster than he normally would have, which was fine with John; he didn’t know if he could handle his confusing flatmate if he were right beside him. Eventually, they made their way sneakily into the office. As soon as John stepped over the threshold, he almost fell into the door frame. He peered upwards at the tall figure, wondering why the detective had stopped directly in front of him and turned away from the room. John felt claustrophobic against the wall.

 

“Oh. Sherlock..?” John started, but his words trailed off to a world of their own, ignoring John’s orders in turn. “The, erm..?” he muttered, his hand gesturing off to the desk. His eyes avoided Sherlock’s piercing greens as he tapped his fingers on the wall impatiently, hot breath leaving his lungs in a rush, brushing out of him quickly, as if it were running away from him- afraid of being stolen.

 

The doctor gasped as he felt a cold finger under his chin tilt his head up. Their eyes met almost instantly before Sherlock’s faltering smile broke them up. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably as he felt an unusual sensation in his lower chest and tried his best not to show it. He could see John’s eyes light up as the two identified the feeling instantly.

 

A warm exhale washed over the doctor when he felt the detective lean closer to him, his pale hands wrapping themselves around his back and pulling him closer. John was tempted to smile as he zeroed in on the cloudy eyes that screamed _I have a plan, and the key ingredient is you._ Sherlock had a hard time with trying to break the habit of taking what he wanted, whether or not it was allowed.

 

Sherlock had no time to take a breath into his system before John stole his away, claiming it as his own now when John locked their lips together once again. His green eyes widened like shades in the morning, revealing the blinding realization. After his mind processed what was happening, he pressed back into the doctors lips, pushing him further against the wall. John tilted his head upwards to contain the kiss, not wanting to accidentally break it and have it lose its’ intensity. It was not equally as heated as the first kiss, but this time, Sherlock let his hands wander over John’s body. While lips found a pulse in John’s neck, fingers pressed past ribs, then hips, and almost... but as soon as John felt like he was in pure ecstasy, the warmth drifted away; the detective detached himself from him to quickly turn away and rummage through a desk drawer, leaving the doctor in a frustrated, horny mess of lust.

 

“Sherlock?” He slammed the drawer shut, sweeping past John and out of the door that was previously opened.

 

“I’ve got it, John. Let’s go.” he answered back, both his heart and mind moving with inhuman speed, resulting in the small doctor being crippled with confusion and an undying thirst for more. He almost wanted to call out and question why he had stopped. Did he take pleasure in torturing him?  But before he could even open his mouth in protest, it was quickly shut with Sherlock’s pale palm and the other hand grasped his coat, pulling him out of the office and into the dark hallway. Sherlock tried to show no sign of change in his behavior as he selfishly tugged John behind him, but he couldn't help but feel a slight flush creep up his ears. He hoped that John wouldn't notice. As they both hurried down the halls, Sherlock’s mind began to wander and daydreamed about what they had just done for a second time. He was so distracted that he didn’t hear the footsteps that echoed in front of them; it was only until John slapped on the brakes did he realize that the guard returned. They waited, plastered against the wall, hands still grasping at each other. Their chests moved rhythmically, each heart pounding with secret desire and ever growing hunger.

 

The footfalls faded and the threat drifted away, leaving the two to engage with their eyes once again and share an all too familiar feeling before nodding in agreement to keep running. The adrenaline coursed through their veins, and it proved to be useful in leaving the building without being caught. They must have been an absolute sight: two grown men walking down the pavement at midnight, smiling and giggling triggered with just glances. John and Sherlock started to argue at one point about whether or not the evidence would be pertinent enough to take to Lestrade right away. John said that it was late, but Sherlock retorted that neither of them would probably sleep as soon as they got back home. Eventually, John won and Sherlock hailed a cab; they shared a quiet ride back to Baker Street, something quite normal for them. What wasn’t normal, however, was the rippling tension between the two. It made John very confused about what Sherlock wanted since the man was being hot and cold, giving gas and stomping on the brake at the same time. Even Sherlock felt uncertain. As soon as the front door shut, John spoke up.

 

“Sherlock,” he asked steadily, though a magnitude of red edged up his neck. He willed his inner captain to appear. “Can you tell me exactly why you... kissed me?”

 

Sherlock barely stuttered in his step and kept a blank face when he answered, not even bothering to pause on the stairs. “He was going to remove us from the building. I made him uncomfortable so he would leave.”

 

The nonchalance did not fool John. “Yes, but you kissed me when there was no reason to.”

 

Sherlock stopped just before the entrance that lead into 221B. He could see a bit of paint chipping at the corner of the door and tried to focus on that instead of the awkward that emanated from behind him.

 

“I was just curious, I suppose.” Sherlock lied and continued through the frame, hanging his coat and scarf.

 

John felt dread seep through him; He was just another experiment. “Well, next time, could you not use me as a test subject? It was misleading,” He spat in a nearly bitter tone, following the detective inside and shutting the door behind him. "I'd appreciate it, thanks."

 

Sherlock paused and turned to the doctor. He looked ashen in the face, but his neck told a different story. Worry lines covered his forehead and his posture was mostly closed off. It appeared that the detective's almost-lie caused a disruption between them; Sherlock really was curious, but not for the reason implied. He wanted to map John out completely with his tongue and explore every bit of his mouth with his own. There was an unexplainable attraction that remained a total mystery to Sherlock.

 

John wandered into the kitchen. "Tea?"

 

Sherlock trailed after him. "Yes, thank-" he interrupted himself; a small sliver of skin appeared from under the soft jumper and plaid button down as John reached for mugs from the cupboard. Instead of resisting the urge to walk over and latch his teeth to the shorter man's ear, Sherlock embraced it. His hands found their way into John's waistband and started to trail towards the center.

 

"Sherlock," John turned around and pushed lightly at the man's chest. "I literally just asked you to not-" A well aimed kiss silenced him and he was pressed into the counter by Sherlock's entire body. His thighs were slotted with Sherlock's, slightly rubbing against his sex. He tried to pull away, but Sherlock had him pinned to the counter. He pulled his head back a small amount that only allowed enough room for speaking.

 

"John," he breathed. "Stay." It was more of a question than the first time he said it, almost like he was asking for permission.

 

John's brow furrowed, incredibly confused of the progression of their situation. "Really. Please don't if you're not serious."

 

"I want you, John."

 

"Honestly?"

 

Sherlock traced his lips lightly against John's and moved across his jaw. "Yes."

 

John's heart fluttered at the admission and let himself enjoy the treatment his ear was receiving. He his hands roamed around Sherlock's torso, pulling out his shirt in the process. Warm fingers pressed into warmer skin, and it sent chills through Sherlock that resulted in goosebumps. He gave a nip at the shell of John's ear and proceeded to the expanse of neck hungrily. A bruise was sucked over the pulsing throat and John shuddered heavily, letting a low moan out that drove Sherlock mad. Teeth bit into the soft skin of the doctor's clavicle and it earned the detective a grind against his dick. John's name was muttered in a low tone and he couldn't take it any longer.

 

"My room, yeah?" John murmured through a bitten off moan. Sherlock mumbled an agreement and dragged John towards the kitchen door. He was still working on John’s neck when he backed straight into the frame. He fumbled with finding the doorknob, but John yanked his head back up to his face by his hair, tearing Sherlock’s concentration. John knocked his lips aggressively against Sherlock's and ground into him. His cock was straining against his trousers, and it was bordering uncomfortable; he wanted it out immediately. A warm hand rubbed against him, and he groaned into the kiss, breaking contact momentarily. Sherlock fumbled with the clasp of the belt for a second, but it was undone eventually and he moved to the button and zip. They were practically torn off in the fervor, but that hardly mattered to John, as there was a palm on his aching dick, and it felt brilliant, so brilliant that he clamped onto Sherlock's collarbone.

 

"Now. Now would be nice, John." Sherlock insisted in a demanding, craving voice.

 

“Yeah. Yes,” John shot his hand out to the knob and turned it, pushing at Sherlock as he did so. The two continued their escapade up the steps, almost falling on every stair. On the landing, Sherlock stripped John’s jumper off and threw it over the banister. “Too many fucking clothes.” John commented, tearing at his button down hurriedly, still shoving kisses at the detective. Sherlock chuckled, but agreed.

 

The two hardly made it to John’s bedroom door before Sherlock grasped John by his loose sleeve, pulling him down towards the bed, leaving John with only a split second to slam the door shut with his foot, knowing that the last thing he needed was for Mrs. Hudson to be permanently scarred. Sherlock was halfway on top of John before the smaller man escaped from under him, quickly turning to his nightstand and rummaging through it, leaving the detective with a puzzled look plastered on his face.

 

The taller man sat up as his flatmate turned around with a small container in his hand, and upon further inspection, he came to the realization that it was, in fact, lube. His green eyes rolled back into his skull slightly as the “pop” of it opening rang throughout the room.

 

“So.. you were.. prepared for this? He asked lowly, a quizzical expression still glued to his face.

 

He made a grab for the lube, scratching John’s fingers as the smaller man held it back. A rough growl forming in his throat as a smile spread across his cheeks.

 

“I... uh... Don’t like to rub one out dry...” He coughed in an embarrassed manner, his cheeks turning a slight red before returning the smile back to his flatmate. Shaking away the slight awkwardness, he stepped up close to the detective, looking slightly up and scanning his features, before catching him off guard with a hard shove on his chest. John instantly climbed on top of him, throwing the cap to the lube across the room, allowing it to hit the wall and bounce away. His teeth found Sherlock’s sharp clavicle and instantly attached themselves to it, claiming it as theirs. A hiss escaped from the detective and he tipped his head back, his hands now grasping John’s back. As the texture of John’s shirt grew old he quickly struggled to pull it off of him. His eyes locked on John’s chest, widening at the surprise of muscles on the smaller doctor left over from the war and running around London (sometimes all of England) with Sherlock. He grew red as he rolled his eyes to the side, realizing how lackluster he felt compared to him.

 

“What?” John stopped, letting go of the detective’s collar, his mouth dripping with complete and utter want.

 

Sherlock felt silly and a bit upset with himself that he broke the heat. “You’re... This is stupid. You’ve kept a better body than I.”

 

John’s face completely fell and became incredulous. “Oh, shut up,” He whispered hungrily as he locked eyes once more with his flatmate before returning to his previous activity of bruising and setting cuts into Sherlock’s shoulders. “You seriously believe that?” John brought his body down harder onto Sherlock. “You feel this, right? You’re really going to be self conscious when I’m, God, so fucking hard for you?”

 

Sherlock swallowed off to the side as he felt the doctors growing erection rub on his thigh, the feeling of lust and thirst for more returning to him full force.

 

"Relax, Sherlock." John hissed through his teeth as his hand slowly crawled down between the two of them, clasping itself around Sherlock's growing bulge. As John continued his biting, he slowly began to undo Sherlock’s trousers, biting harder with the satisfying noise of the track of the zipper. Sherlock tilted his neck back again as the doctor slithered towards it, tracing the spots with his tongue before marking it as his. John set the bottle of lube own on his nightstand and hooked his index fingers into Sherlock’s trousers, slowly pulling the material down to his thighs. He growled lowly as his fingers traced over both their erections. Every now and then a possessive "Mine" would escape his throat, before starting to slide further down the detective. He clamped his teeth down once more, causing the detective to hiss out in pleasure.

 

"Mon Dieu..." The foreign tongue caused the smaller man to raise his brow in confusion, before processing the phrase in his brain.

 

"French..?" He smiled, blowing hot air out of his nose onto Sherlock’s groin, making him flinch in a way that seemed like he was begging for more. John lowered himself back down, allowing Sherlocks growing arousal to pulse through his pants. He slowly traced the detective's hip with his tongue before latching onto it with intentions to imprint that as his too. A hot breath wafted over Sherlock again from John as he swirled his fingers into the doctors hair. He couldn't help but slowly grind the soldier subconsciously.

 

"J’adore ta bouche…" The detective hissed, his mind stuck into the language, as if it had been jammed like a computer. John smirked slyly as he identified the words “I love” and "mouth.”

 

After John created new bruises, he decided that it was time for them to move into the bigger stuff (no pun intended). He slowly crept his fingers over Sherlocks pants, pulling them down to his knees so that Sherlock's naked bulge was clearly visible now.  His hand found his cleft as it snuck down Sherlock's gorgeous ass. Their eyes locked again as John flicked them up, sending a message that read "Relax." Sherlock tensed for a moment as John's palm inched lower, quickly breathing out a sigh as he felt the cold lube slide against him.

 

The detective let out a slight gasp, followed by a short moan as he felt his flatmate ever so slowly pushed a finger inside of his tight entrance, thanking him in his thoughts for keeping lube. His eyes began to roll back into his head as he lost his mind to his body, something he had never expected to feel in his life from John Watson. John decided to give use of his medical degree to rub expertly across the sensitive bundle of nerves. And Sherlock couldn’t remember if he liked it or not (his experiences done in times of want, though not of sex). But it was quickly confirmed that he did indeed enjoy it as John slipped in another finger, a moan escaping his teeth as he bit his lower lip. John began to move his hand faster and pressed open-mouth kisses to wherever he could reach.

 

"Mets- mets tes doigts en moi..." He growled out in a primal hunger, ice blue eyes zeroing in on the doctor as he lowered his brows. John had trouble understanding what Sherlock was moaning about, but he knew was that it was in a demanding fashion and it involved fingers. He could feel the grip on his hair tighten as he pushed further into him, each of Sherlock’s fingers twirling around their own bunch of golden hair. John's grin widened as he lowered his head down to Sherlocks groin, his tongue rolling over the curve of his hips that joined in with his lower stomach, resulting in a low rumble of pleasure from the detective. He opened his digits before he slid another finger slid into Sherlock’s tight warmth, and he couldn't help but arch forwards, practically leaning off the bed in a spasm of painful pleasure. His eyes narrowed as he bit harder on his lip, not caring that he was slightly shredding into it.

 

“Yeah?” John chuckled into the spot he outlined. He peered at the man through his lashes and stuck his tongue out, tracing another wet stripe into Sherlock’s skin while moving his hand slowly driving in and out of his arsehole, trailing ever so slightly to the right to leave a promising breath on his prick. John could hear Sherlock curse silently to himself along with something along the lines of "Tease..." followed by a sharp intake of breath when he saw John quickly shift towards his crotch. He hovered over Sherlock, one hand still in his phenomenal ass, the other gripping onto the sheets by Sherlock's hip. When John removed his fingers, Sherlock took his chance.

 

The doctor had no idea he was on his back, half hanging off the bottom of the bed, until a hand started to tug at his cock and a mouth was latched onto one of his nipples. He was taken completely by surprise at the maneuver. He tried to mutter a question out, but it was replaced by a moan when teeth were introduced to the nub of flesh on his chest. John was dismal when the mouth left, but that was quickly quelled when warm air and an even warmer saturation engulfed the tip of his erection.

 

“Oh, God.” John managed. Sherlock hummed, which only made the matter worse- or better, depending on how someone would take the low vibrations flowing through their pulsing member. John took it well.

 

“Gémis pour moi.” Sherlock growled. “Je te baise et c'est génial, je veux te faire jouir de plaisir.”

 

John didn’t care that he wasn’t clear enough to translate some of that because the lips that spoke those words were too busy taking his entire length inside of them. John would have thrown his head back, but it was already dangling off the edge of the mattress. Sherlock swallowed around him, and it made the feeling impossibly tighter, warming his insides completely. John felt suction as Sherlock pulled off slowly, making a slight popping noise when he got to the end; Sherlock grinned at the face John made and started to bob his head, fast then slow. It was evident that the doctor was quickly building, especially from the amount of precum that the detective devoured. He dragged down one last time, all the way to the base, and kept himself there for just a moment, and John lifted upwards with his hips to feel the entirety of Sherlock on him. He slid his mouth off and yanked the man up onto the bed fully, scrambling upwards as he did so to capture the lips he bruised earlier.

 

“Take your fucking shirt off; It’s in the way.” John snarled between the quick, hungry kisses and tearing at the buttons. Sherlock obeyed and took to the bottom half since John had already started on the top.

 

“Your jeans are still on.” Sherlock murmured back, tugging at the belt loops.

 

“Fuck it,” John bit out, grinding upwards into his flat mate. “Get everything off.” He shoved at his jeans and pants that were sitting high on his thighs and pressed further into Sherlock’s sex. He groaned back and slipped his own off, along with his shirt. He continued his mission that were John’s lips. It was messy and hot, just like the way the man under him rutted. They both were grunting admissions to a higher power until Sherlock moved his hands to John’s nipples again, then John nearly forgot how to breath.

 

“Just- I need you. I need you around my prick.” John gasped out, pushing Sherlock off and returning to the nightstand to pull a condom out and to retrieve the lube.

 

Within seconds John found himself in the tight grip of Sherlocks fists, which had curled around his biceps. He pulled the smaller man back so that his lips were practically touching his earlobe.

 

"Baise-moi..." He growled in such a low tone, it sent a shockwave of pleasure down John’s neck, back and of course, cock.

 

He thought he would never hear those words in French from anyone, especially not the great Sherlock Holmes. It took him a couple of seconds to process that yes, Sherlock Holmes did infact just, not ask, but order the good doctor to fuck him.

 

Slowly he unraveled his fingers from John’s arm, letting him free. John turned slightly, and an animalistic grin replaced Sherlock’s once nervous smile as he wrapped his long fingers into Johns dirty blonde hair, yanking his head to the side to bite a nick into his throat.

 

“Yes,” John hissed, scrabbling for the condom he dropped when Sherlock ensnared him. He tore it open and administered it to himself, grabbing the container again and slipping a generous amount of lube on his erection. He turned to face Sherlock and pushed him down on his back with absolute roughness, climbing on top of him with a pillow he snatched from the top of the bed. “Lift.” John commanded. He placed the pillow under Sherlock’s back and when they settled, there was a slight pause from both of them. They held their breath together, then John pressed very slowly into Sherlock’s entrance, letting the air out of his lungs at the same pace. He lost himself in the tightness and propped up on his right arm, wrapping the other around Sherlock’s wrists that he pulled above his curls and pinned to the soft, ruffled duvet. When he was in to the base, he stopped, letting the pair adjust to the feeling.

 

“S’il te plaît,” Sherlock stammered. “S’il te plaît, ba-” and that was all that John needed to encourage him to move. John pumped his hips slowly at first, wanting to enjoy the tight feeling the other man gave him, but he quickly lost that want and started to feed his need. After a moment, the slow thrusts became rapid slams that caused Sherlock to dig his nails into John’s sides, shoulders, and back, leaving track marks up and down his skin. One of the welts started to bleed, and it should have alarmed the detective that he was gripping so tight, but it only fueled his aggressive moans of “J’adore sentir ta bite en moi.” He raised his endless legs to wrap themselves around John’s waist, and it immediately forced him to squeeze his eyes shut. The angle change gave John’s sex perfect access to Sherlock’s prostate, and he abruptly lost coherency. The only word he could manage was “Dieu...,” which he kept stuttering over and over, which, incidentally, was the only word John could manage to repeat, too, except it was in English.

 

“God, God, God. God!” He yelped, propelling further in shallower pumps, only for Sherlock to interrupt him.

 

“Arrêter...a-arrêter!”

 

John reluctantly stopped, confused for a moment with the word he knew was not an encouragement. He was panting and tempted to swear at the man he wanted to finish fucking. He almost snapped a “what” to him when he released his hands, but Sherlock was lunging forward, sending John onto his own back. He resettled onto John’s member and began bouncing in his lap.

 

“Oh.” John pressed his head into the mattress and his hands scrambled for the hips that moved over his body. Sherlock leaned down and started biting and kissing more wounds into any skin he could reach. When a palm grasped his own cock and moved with passion, he stopped completely, panting into John’s collarbone. When he found he could manage the sensation, he maneuvered his arse again with purpose, setting the motion on himself in an offset, and he could only whine unintelligibly. John sounded the same, crying out “Uh!”’s and “Oh!”’s until he lost control of his hips and started to move against Sherlock.

 

John came first, vibrating through his orgasm, alternating pulsations with screams of ecstasy. He almost let go of the throbbing cock in his hand, but kept his head clear long enough to finish Sherlock off, who was only seconds behind. He gasped right before he erupted and let out silent cries, taking in ragged breaths from the shoulder he shoved his head in. When he finished, he let himself slump straight onto John. The two were covered in sweat and cum, coming down from the adrenaline high. Sherlock steeled himself and removed his body from John’s lap and laid on his back, heart beating incredibly fast as he turned his head into the bicep there.

 

“Mon chéri…”

 

John stared at the ceiling, half bemused by the murmur that was whispered into his skin. Sherlock had called him darling- but where did that put them? Sherlock felt the man freeze.

 

A sleepy, sated grumble came from John’s side. “What?”

 

John wished his mind were clearer because the words he wanted to use were escaping him. “You said you were serious about this,” he started. “But what exactly did that mean?”

 

Sherlock tensed. He did not want to have this talk. “What did you mean?” When he got no answer, he shut his eyes and breathed slowly. “A relationship is what it would be called, I suppose. Or, at least the closest I would be willing to come to one.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yes. I’m not exactly one for traditional dating, though I’m sure that is apparent.”

 

John snorted. “It’d be strange if you were traditional of any sort, to be honest,” the smile he gained tumbled off of his face. “But... you do want a version of that?” Sherlock nodded minutely. “I’d like it, if that’s really what you wanted.” John had never actually thought about having anything more than a friendship with the man he was laying next to, but after recent events, he considered it with a great intensity.

 

Sherlock pursed his lips. “Honestly?”

  
John really did want something with him. Very badly, in fact. He turned onto his side and ran his hand across Sherlock’s bare torso, settling his palm on the jutting bone of his side. John traced his lips lightly against Sherlock's and moved across his jaw. "Yes."

**Author's Note:**

> Users who worked on this:  
> batchfully  
> ThisChickIsOffTopic  
> imjohnlocked
> 
> Mon Dieu... - My God...  
> J’adore ta bouche… - I love your mouth...  
> Mets- mets tes doigts en moi... - Put- put your fingers in me...  
> Gémis pour moi. - Moan for me.  
> Je te baise et c'est génial, je veux te faire jouir de plaisir. - (English meaning, not exactly as translated) I'll blow you so well. I want you to come with pleasure.  
> Baise-moi... - Fuck me.  
> S’il te plaît - Please  
> J’adore sentir ta bite en moi. - I love your cock in me.  
> Arrêter - Stop  
> Mon chéri - My darling


End file.
